


The Thing With Feathers

by timeless_alice



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Adoption, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Character, Autistic Orpheus, Child Abandonment, F/M, Hermes Adopts Orpheus, I'll probably add more tags as I go, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, author soapboxing, failing marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeless_alice/pseuds/timeless_alice
Summary: The world they lived in was hard.It's even harder when someone isDifferent.Hermes takes a poor boy under his wing and all they can do is try their best.chapter one: speechchapter two: meeting persephonechapter three: a small talk
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown), Hades/Persephone (Hadestown), Hermes & Orpheus (Hadestown)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 82





	1. Speech

Orpheus was _different_. It was clear as the day, with the way certain sounds and tunes would stick in his throat and how restless hands found comfort in the strumming of strings. There was a time, Hermes recalled, when all the other children his age had taken to endless chatter, simply because the words on their tongue were so novel, while he contented himself with verbal silence. But there was always music, songs his mother played and he was always fascinated by; small body pressing as close to the old secondhand record player as he could with wide eyes, as if he was listening with every one of his senses. Listening with everything he had, listening with his whole soul. Sometimes Hermes caught him mouthing the words as people sang, like he was testing the shape of the words.

It would be some time before speech came, when the short spring was already beginning to give way to summer. The words were said with care, and every one of his sentences was structured with such deliberation that some laughed and said that he took after his mother. Destined to be a poet, just like she was.

"Some kids take longer than others," his patrons at the station said. "He was just waiting until he had the right words."

It wasn't long after he started speaking in full that his mother left for greener pastures. Never the motherly type to begin with and never the type to stick around when the wind was calling her name, there to sweep her away to some other bones of a ghost town. No child of hers would have stood a chance against her nature, and Hermes did not judge her for it. The world they lived in had an effect on some people, the shifting expanses of land causing for sandy soil that made roots impossible to grow. And as the God of the lonely railway station, the God of wayward souls searching for a place to rest, he took the boy under his wing. Tried his best when Orpheus, a child too young to understand why his mother left him behind, cried out in the night for the woman who would never return; and while it grew rarer as he grew older, he knew there were moments where the boy wondered what he did wrong. Rare moments of doubt and uncertainty, for someone who often sang with a voice that could make the sun rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> broadway orpheus is autistic and i can PROVE it
> 
> (necessary disclaimer that im autistic)
> 
> im on tumblr at [timelessmulder](timelessmulder.tumblr.com)


	2. Meeting Persephone

It was the first sunny, warm day in months when the train arrived, right when the afternoon was melting into a mild evening. A train that brought the summer winds that chased away the chill and promised a bright new day. Orpheus was only a few weeks past six at the time, without even half a year passing since his mother had left him behind, and it was the first time he was allowed in the station when _she_ arrived. It was not so much Persephone herself that Hermes did not trust, perish the thought of her doing anything to harm an innocent let alone a little boy, it was more the booze that flowed with her on the premises that put him on edge with such a young child around. But as it were, Orpheus was loathe to be alone and followed Hermes like a shadow, clinging close to his leg as he hummed the opening chords of a song he had heard that morning on the radio. His hands fidgeted at his sides, as they tended to do when there was nothing to occupy them.

All the regulars, all those who had waited for this moment for a long six months, buzzed with their excitement. Hermes suspected - well, he knew, but he was too much of a gentleman to say - that alcohol was already being shared. The winter had been long that year, too long for Hermes' blood who had watched the growing unrest in the unhappy marriage, but the train was arriving. They could hear it on the tracks, barreling ever upward and ever closer to the station, and the joy in the room grew ever more palpable. Even Orpheus stopped his humming, eyes wide as he looked in the direction of the oncoming train until it finally squealed to a halt.

A hush fell over the small group clustered in the station bar, all eyes turned on the door. Hermes went about his preparations, continuing to organize the wares and tidying here and there, all with Orpheus wandering behind. Not as close as before, Hermes noted with a small smile that faded so quickly it might as well not have been there at all, as even he had been taken with the awe that settled with a physical weight. Strangers to the routine always knew they were in for something that was worth the wait, even if they didn't know what it was they were waiting _for_. Heartbeats passed, and in those steady pulses empires could have risen and fell within that eternity of anticipation. And then, Persephone blew into the room, all grace and gusto and vibrant greens. The world was alive again.

The regulars there cheered, a few of them with reddened cheeks that came with alcohol and voices that were a little too open to not be influenced by drink. Hermes watched her sweep through them, greeting each by name with a laugh and a smile and a glowing joy that could only come from once again being topside. In her bag he could see the necks of two fancy bottles of wine that she had managed to procure even under the all seeing eyes of her husband. One patron stood at her behest, moving to grab cups from the counter with the intention of having her fill them up with her illicit goods; Hermes could only shake his head with a chuckle. Another man took her heavy fur coat to hang up by the doorway. No one would dare steal it, though he was certain that she would not have minded if someone did. It was worth more than some of them made in a month.

It was a gift to her from someone with all the money in the world.

A glance below told him that the boy was watching her with rapt attention, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape as he poked his head around the edge of the bar. Just enough so he could duck away at any moment. "Do you want to say hello?" Hermes asked him, soft enough to not draw the eye of anyone else, just in case.

Orpheus' mouth snapped shut and he looked up at Hermes, offering no other reply. His fingers had taken to tapping a staccato against his hips, one that didn't match the beat of any song Hermes had heard; more a nervous fidget than anything else.

"Come on," Hermes said, voice gentle in its suggestion, because he had been around the boy enough to know that it was best not to force him into situations. "I'll introduce you."

He walked out from behind the bar without making sure if Orpheus was following him or not, knowing that the decision to stay hidden or venture to meet this newcomer was up to him alone, and approached Persephone as she poured drinks. She paid him little mind, though he knew she was aware of his presence from the slightest shifts in her posture. Tension from the past few months relaxing in the presence of friends- helped along with some amount of drinking, of course. He could see the glinting of a flask as she twirled away from him to attend to another person, and a sigh that never passed his lips swirled in his chest because things were only getting worse.

He waited until she finished speaking, until she finished listening to this man in a tattered tan jacket joke about his life the past few months. And then, when the man rose his cup to her, Hermes stepped forward with a wry smile. Concern twisted at this heart, digging into his bones until it made its home there, and he tried to hide it away under a teasing mask.

"You're late," he said. Later than last year. Only going to get later still. He had been watching the signs for so long.

With a dramatic flair of her skirt, Persephone turned on her heel. One hand clutching a bottleneck and the other on her hip, brows furrowing and lips pursing. "You know how Hades is," she said, almost flippantly. Her shrug carried with it all the years of built up frustration she had with the whole situation, and she opened her mouth to say something else, when her eyes cast downward. There was a slow deliberation with which she closed her jaw. "Who is this?"

Orpheus had been so quiet as he tread across the station room that Hermes hadn't even known he'd crept out from behind the bar to stand beside him. Hermes looked down and smiled softly, gently, reaching down to place a hand on Orpheus' shoulder. The boy took that as his cue to cling to him like a lifeline, taking hold of his sleeve and pressing close as suddenly eyes were upon him. The crowd, displeased at the delay in the sharing of alcohol, voiced their displeasure, only for Persephone to hiss at them to be quiet. She bent low, planting palms on her thighs as if to brace herself, to be more eye level with him and Orpheus for his part ducked behind Hermes, clutching ever tighter to him. A protective barrier between himself and everyone else. Because now that his mother was gone, and the rug had been torn out from under him, the world was just that more uncharted.

Persephone laughed, a high and delighted sound, one the likes of which Hermes hadn't heard in who knew how long. "And whose boy is this?" she asked with a smile so brilliant it was almost blinding. She glanced up at Hermes, eyebrows raised and the quirk of her lips taking on a more teasing quality. "Yours?"

And it was Hermes' turn to laugh. While it wasn't without humor, he couldn't help the hint of bitterness that crept in at the edges. "No, not mine. Cal's." He waved his hand, to indicate the blowing of the wind that might carry someone away. "But you know how she was. She left soon after you did."

A look of understanding, one that mingled with something close to a familiar heartbreak, crossed over her features, before she was able to force herself back into a smile. "Calliope was never one to stick around," she said. And to Orpheus, she went on, "Well, I'm Persephone. An old friend of Mr. Hermes here." She held out a hand, as elegant and graceful as one would expect from the queen of Hadestown greeting someone of great importance. Because to her, everyone was worthy of such an honor.

Orpheus peeked out at her, then looked upward at Hermes with an uncertain set to his features. Hermes crouched down so all three of them were on similar levels and he gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile; he didn't meet Orpheus' eyes. That would only make him more nervous, more skittish in a situation that was already on unsteady ground for him.

"You can say hello," he said. "Her bark is worse than her bite." Orpheus only blinked, brows furrowing as he took the play on words and tucked it away for later deliberation and use, as he did with all turns of phrases he came across. The nervous tension eased from his frame, just as Hermes had hoped.

With a toss of her head that sent her long, tight curls bouncing around her shoulders, Persephone let out a bark of a laugh. "Is that a pun, Hermes?" Her eyes shone with mirth, and she added, "Are you sure he isn't your boy?"

And Hermes said nothing, because he wasn't so sure yet.

"Do you want to tell her your name?" Orpheus' attention had turned back to Persephone, eyeing her outstretched hand with some degree of suspicion. And then he looked up. "Or do you want me to."

A few moments of silence, his gaze never wavering from Persephone's face. Never once meeting her eyes. Then, eventually, he said, "I'm Orpheus," with that soft, lilting voice of his that was still getting a grasp on pronunciations. He reached out and took her hand with a feather light touch. There was another pause as he considered her, head tilting to the side, but he said nothing more.

"He usually isn't this shy," Hermes said. When the boy had finally spoken, he had proven a talent to talk a blue streak, as if the words had been building up and couldn't stop once they were let out. They slowed in recent months. "Cal leaving just..." He left the rest unsaid, and his sigh was low, and it was long, and it was bordering on the dramatic.

"That's all right. It's great to meet you, Orpheus," Persephone said. And her words were rich, brimming with life in a way that Hermes hadn't heard in years. She let go of Orpheus and balanced her forearms on her legs, clasping her hands between her knees. "I'm sure Mr. Hermes told you why I'm here."

There was a brief moment of silence, as if he was weighing the pros and cons of replying, before Orpheus nodded. "Lady Persephone brings the spring," he said, voice a sing song in its recitation. "Mr. Hermes said something about you being late all the time, but he used a word I got in trouble for saying."

Persephone laughed. Hermes burned with embarrassment, pressing a hand to his mouth as he turned away from her playful look on her face, but there was still a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Hermes, you are not swearing in front of a child." The admonishment was light and thick with affection.

"I didn't think he heard me," was all Hermes was able to say in defense of himself, spreading hands with palms towards the sky and his shoulders shrugging.

He had already had to pick through Calliope's old records, whatever ones she had left in her dusty old apartment, as well as his own, to make sure Orpheus didn't find any songs that were inappropriate for someone his age that he might end up repeating. It was harder to scrub swearing from his own vocabulary. Luckily, it seemed like vulgarity didn't fit into whatever criteria he had that made words and sounds fit for repetition and experimentation, in terms of pronunciation.

With a flourish she stood upright, palms smoothing over her grass green skirt. "He's right about one thing," she said to Orpheus. "I am never on time." Her smile flickered, threatening to vanish before it settled into something that was a little sad. The glow in her eyes faded ever so slightly.

Hermes followed her into a standing position, old bones aching in protest from being crouch for so long. He sighed, placing a hand to his hip and giving his head a mild shake, pinching the bridge of his nose. Without seeing it, he could feel Orpheus pry his fingers between his palm and hip to take hold of his hand. In his periphery, Hermes watched Persephone glance at the gesture, and then turn her attention back to him with a quirked eyebrow that carried loaded questions that he didn't have the answers for. He could only shrug in reply.

"Well," she said, once more pivoting towards the patrons, who had taken to pouring themselves their own drinks. "Sadly I don't have anything age appropriate for Mr. Orpheus here. I didn't know we'd have a kid with us."

She winked over her shoulder at Hermes before she strode off, back to the chatter of the patrons and folding in among them, a brilliant splash of color among all the dull tones that dominated the space. The people were growing louder and rowdier by the moment, though in all his years of working there it had never gotten to the point of needing to kick anyone out for disruptive behavior. It was just that they were all reveling in the return of the sun after so long in the dark.

Orpheus, a little more bold now that there was one less stranger in the room, broke away from Hermes to pull himself onto an unoccupied bar stool, though he remained close by. He watched the patrons, most of whom he knew at least in passing because they breezed through almost every day, idly swinging his feet and tapping his fingernails against the worn wood. Hermes hovered by him, keeping one eye on the crowd to make sure the joy wouldn't overflow into something they could never hope to contain, while keeping the other on Orpheus, who was just content to watch and listen.

And though the Lady of the Underground, the coming of the spring and summer, had brought life to those who endured the long months of the cold and dark, it wasn't long before their attention turned away from her. Turned to drink and celebration among themselves after basking in the warmth of Persephone's presence, allowing her to slip away to the bar. To take a seat beside Orpheus, who turned his gaze to her after a heartbeat of pause; she glanced at Hermes, who gave her a smile and a nod, before giving the boy her full attention. And they talked. Hermes watched them for a moment longer, before he began to make his own way through the crowd. Speaking to those who caught his gaze, while otherwise making sure those present were staying in line.

He took the moment himself to revel in the return of spring. The return of an old friend who he saw less and less of with each passing year. He had a drink of the wine that was brought, though he never took much. It tasted of money and reminded him of the cold winter that ate away at the seasons, of the man who had everything. But it was a celebration, and he was a part of it, as he was every year.

The noise in the bar was reaching a fever pitch. The kind of din where it was hard to hear one's own thoughts, where one had to shout to be heard over the other voices which only lead to escalation of volume that would only get worse. Hermes took that as his cue to make a beeline back to Orpheus, pushing through the crowd of people to make it back towards the bar counter.

He knew without being told that the room was edging into being _too much_ for the boy. There were times when the noise and smell of fermentation had grown too much for he himself, though he often endured for the sake of being in Persephone's company. Ancient friendships had their downsides. But Orpheus was not him, he was a little boy in a room full of adults in varying stages of drunkenness. A little boy who was _different,_ in a way that almost warranted a capital D. And that was Hermes' cue that it was time for him to duck out of sight.

The two were as he left them, sitting at the bar and talking. Which was to say, Orpheus was talking about something in that animated way of his when someone managed to pry past whatever barriers existed between him and the rest of the world. And Persephone listened to him with rapt, undivided attention. He couldn't make out the words, but he watched her cut in with what he assumed was a question. Orpheus rocked slightly in his seat, hands flapping with great enthusiasm as he talked. The smile he wore was brighter than Hermes had seen in quite some time, even if it was still duller than the ones he had just a year before.

There was a question nagging at the back of his mind. One that often cycled through his head, with different variables and options plugged in where applicable before being discarded to the far reaches of his mind, not to be touched again.

"Mr. Hermes!" Orpheus' voice chirped as soon as he caught sight of him. Hands moved to clutch the seat as he leaned forward, eyes big and bright. It was a relief, and almost a surprise, that the noise hadn't gotten to him yet. At least, hadn't gotten to him in a way that required the frustration to be expressed.

"Orpheus here," Persephone said, running fingers through her long hair, "was telling me about your record collection." She worked out a tangle with nimble ease, not looking up at him, though he could tell alone that there was a teasing look on her face. Because what else were friends for. "And, it sounds like some of Cal's that she left behind."

Hermes laughed and shrugged, tucking his own hands in his pockets. "I didn't get rid of all of them." There was a silent "he likes the music, and they remind us of her."

She hummed and nodded in that deliberate, exaggerated way people had when they were conceding a point, her lips quirking into that cat like grin she had. "Fair enough, Hermes." Knowing her, she picked up on all the words unsaid, because they had known each other so long and she would be remiss if she couldn't read him like an open book.

It wasn't entirely something that Hermes was proud of. But it was what it was.

"Anyway," Hermes said, removing hands from pockets to flick away unseen dust from his suit jacket. "I'm sorry to cut you two off, but I think it's time Orpheus went home for the night."

Without a word Orpheus climbed down from the bar stool, movements stiff and a little halting, as if he wasn't quite aware of his own limbs; just one of the many quirks Hermes was learning to pick up on. Persephone watched him for a moment as he returned to Hermes' side, and then she too stood, tapping the heel of her boot against the wood floor, turning to examine the crowd that seemed to have forgotten that she was there. Her head bobbed to unheard music, and not for the first time Hermes wished they still had an in house band. Something from the _Before_ that made even the dark, cold months seem a little brighter. That thought too was pushed out of his head. Orpheus didn't take hold of Hermes, only hovered by his side.

"Fair enough," she said, twirling to face them again. "It was wonderful talking to you, Mr. Orpheus." She gave him a polite nod of her head, then turned her attention to Hermes. "I'll come up later to say goodnight."

And to talk, Hermes thought, without the crowd and without Orpheus to hear. Because there was so much to say that Hermes simply could not at that time, words that had buried under his skin to worry at nerves for months until everything was red and raw. He took a deep breath, one that curled in the lungs but did not feel like it would ever be enough, and let it out in a low sigh.

"'Course," he said. "Look forward to it, Lady Persephone." The honorific was laced with a teasing air.

There was that laugh again, like a gentle wind blowing through wind chimes on a mild summer day. The sort of sound that made you feel alive, filled with ancient magic that pulsed through this world of theirs. The smile on his face grew a little more genuine, even as his thoughts still circled on the relationship between Persephone and her husband and what it meant for everyone else. It was hard not to dwell, when she arrived. When she left.

There was so little he could do, to stop the shifting of the earth. He did not have nature at his beck and call, could not command the seasons; he had only this lonely railroad on the edge of nothing, and those who traversed those liminal spaces with shoulders hunched and heads bent. And there was power there, to be sure, but his world did not turn in the way Persephone's did.

Persephone returned to the crowd, slipping among them like water around stones and bends in the stream, as if she was always part of the current. With another soft sigh, Hermes reached down to touch Orpheus' shoulder. The boy jolted, like he was lost in his own thoughts and Hermes had brought him back down to earth. Or maybe the noise had gotten to him more than it outwardly seemed, and the boy was standing on the edge of the proverbial abyss. He removed his hand quickly, as to not push him over that edge, and Orpheus' whole frame visibly relaxed, whatever tension there ebbing away, just enough to be noticeable even if it did not vanish completely.

"Come on, kid," he said, beginning to weave through the crowd and towards the apartment that resided above the station. Knowing all the while that Orpheus was following behind, loathe to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank god this is done
> 
> im on tumblr at timelessmulder


	3. A Small Talk

Bedtime was always a _process_. Not one that Hermes was particularly surprised by, all things considered, but it was always a relief when Orpheus was in the bed he had set up in a room that was currently playing double duty as an office, and all necessary reassurances had been uttered. It made his heart ache in all the little ways when Orpheus asked, in a quiet and uncertain voice that barely broke above a whisper, if Hermes would be there in the morning. And Hermes had no problem telling him as many times as needed that he wouldn't leave him in the middle of the night.

There was a small ritual they had, if one could call it that. Hermes would take his pocket watch, one he used to making sure the trains were on schedule, and pass it along to Orpheus. The first time he had done this, in a last ditch attempt to quiet the boy's desperate crying and quell a bone deep terror of abandonment, the boy had turned over the ornately carved silver in his hands. He had been nestled against Herme's side, an old arm wrapped around his shoulders, and sobs turned to soft hiccups and sniffles.

"That's for you," Hermes said. Before Orpheus could ask for an explanation, he had gone on, "I need that for work, and I'll get it in the morning."

It was a promise.

And on that day of high spirits, of the coming of spring, it hardly seemed necessary, but he did it anyway. Orpheus liked his routine, after all. He passed the watch to the boy, who turned it over in his hands with a bright smile and a quiet thank you, before tucking it under his pillow. Goodnights were shared, and Hermes turned out the light - leaving the room to be illuminated by a small bird shaped night light - before closing the door behind him. If he was lucky, Orpheus would be asleep soon and not wake the whole night. If he wasn't lucky, sleep either wouldn't come or Orpheus wouldn't be able to sleep through the night. And even if the day had been good, it was always up in the air about how the nights would go.

It was not long after Orpheus had been settled in that there was a soft knocking at his door. There was a worry nagging at him that the noise would disturb Orpheus and set back all the night's work, though he was sure that the boy couldn't hear it. Still, it hastened his steps enough for him to open the door before anything happened. 

Standing there in the hall, worth more money than anything in the small upstairs complex, was Persephone, her coat draped over her shoulders and her bag hanging delicately from the crook of her elbow. Her lips pursed into a coy smile, and she stepped back so that Hermes could step outside to meet her. The door closed with a click behind them.

"You just missed Orpheus," he said, leaning against the door frame, tucking hands into pockets. "I put him to bed half an hour ago." His own lips quirked into his own smile, and he added, "He told me all about your conversation. Kid likes you a lot."

"Oh, that's too bad," she said. "That I missed him, I mean." She folded her arms, with a careful shift of her shoulders so the coat wouldn't fall to the floor, and leaned against the wall beside Hermes. The two angled to face each other, and he searched her features, taking in every inch of the wistful expression that settled there. "He's a good kid."

There were no children in Hadestown. There was something about Hades' magic and influence that prevented it, because time for children meant less time for work. At least, that was what Hermes always assumed was the case. It was hard for Persephone, one so full of life, to go so long without the sound of children.

"I know he is." 

Persephone was scrutinizing him, he knew she was. Picking him apart at the seams to see the old stuffing inside, like she always had, ever since they first met who knew how long ago. And then after an eternity, she sighed. She said nothing, delving the two into a familiar silence that still seemed to thunder in the vacant space; words unsaid echoing and settling upon shoulders.

"I've been thinking about good families for him," Hermes said when the weight upon his back felt like it was going to make him crumble.

They were words that always sat heavy in his heart. Ones that he wouldn't say to anyone else, and scarcely wanted to say to himself. Persephone snapped to him, eyebrows raising and eyes widening, mouth beginning to open with some counter before Hermes raised a hand to silence her.

"I'm an old bachelor," he said. "I don't know how to raise kids, but..." He trailed off. Thought of how every option he had come up with, he had found a reason to reject them. Again and again.

"But you love that kid, Hermes." It was a simple statement of fact, and everything about Persephone softened. She gave him a small, gentle smile. "Admit it."

There was a long stretch of silence, as Hermes thought. Thought of how she was right, of course, as she always was. He had loved that child since the day they first met, when he was just a baby held in his mother's arms.

"I do," he finally said. "He's got charm enough to spare, I'll give him that."

She chuckled. "I'll say."

A thoughtful look crept onto her face in the beat that followed, turning her a little more somber, in a way he wasn't used to from her. Something in him tensed in preparation. It wasn't hard for him to guess what was coming next, as it was something he knew was on the mind of everyone that spent enough time with him. Most who populated the train station in the fleeting moments allowed to them, between pulses of life, didn't dare bring it up to Hermes. But Persephone wasn't most people.

"Though I have to ask..." She trailed off, biting her lip as she thought of the words to say. "Is Orpheus... you know. _Different_."

Her voice was gentle with the question, and he sighed with the smallest of shakes to his head. "Yeah," he said. There was no point in beating around the bush, no point in lying. He waved one of his hands "Kid's definitely wired different than everyone else." He could see a question forming in Persephone's mind, one that's flitted through his own thoughts from time to time before being dismissed. "And before you ask, I don't think that's why Calliope left." She would have left regardless, he knew her well enough to know that. It was almost a surprise, even, that she stuck around for as long as she did.

She did love him, in her way, while she was around. 

"Must be hard for him, though." Persephone's head tilted to the side as she watched Hermes. "Going through all that. And you know what's important? He loves _you_. Adores you, even. When he wasn't talking to me about music, he was telling me about you. How he's living in your apartment right now, and how you let him talk about things. How you actually _listen_ to him."

Hermes said nothing, because there was nothing for him to say. The details of the situation swirled in his head, piecing themselves together and trying to dodge around the matters of his emotions, but they were difficult to ignore in the scope of the whole picture. He took a deep breath to ground himself, and draw away from all the what ifs and possibilities.

"Hermes," she said, soft and gentle in a way that made her seem decades younger. Akin to how she was before things started to fall apart. "You're already doing a great job with the boy." She reached out and patted his arm, falling once again into the familiar tease of friendship. "You shouldn't doubt yourself on that."

With his own laugh, tentative and one that shook more in this throat than he would like to admit, he brushed away her hand. "I know," he said. And again, a little more certain, "I know." 

"And if you ask me," she said with a toss of her head, "You've already made up your mind. Might as well make it official."

With all the paper work and legal hoops that implied, Hermes thought. He wasn't Hades, he only engaged with all that when it was strictly necessary. But he supposed, and had always known on some quiet part of him, that it would be worth it.

"I'll think about it," he said, though there was only so much longer he could put off his own doubts, if only for Orpheus' sake.

The corners of her lips quirked upward with a smug cat kind of satisfaction. "Good," she said. And she straightened herself, adjusting her coat and slipping her arms through the sleeves, moving her bag to her hand. "And I wish I could stick around some more," she went on, "but mom's expecting me, and you know how _she_ is."

Hermes did. If anyone was impatient for the spring, Demeter had them all beat. He stood straighter to match Persephone.

"And it ain't like I have all the time in the world." A hint of scorn crept into his voice, but Hermes chose not to comment on it. Forced cheerfulness followed. "I'll stop by again in a few weeks, and then we can _properly_ catch up. Tell Orpheus I said goodbye, and I'll be back soon."

She leaned forward and gave him a friendly, platonic, kiss on the cheek, and he responded by wrapping on arm around her shoulders in a light hug. After a second or two, ones that seemed all too brief, she pulled away and said her goodbyes. Hermes watched her walk down the hall towards the stairs, and then vanish out of sight; part of him thought that he should escort her out, but another part said that he ought to stay near the apartment, for the sake of the child inside.

His breath caught in his throat as dread dragged along his arms, looking for a weak spot to bury into and take root. He did not look forward to having to explain to Orpheus that Persephone would not be sticking around.


End file.
